


A Dish best Served Cold

by sleepyowlet



Series: Proverbial Branwen [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyowlet/pseuds/sleepyowlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loghain and Branwen spend the Satinalia celebrations in Denerim. A flaw in the flue enables Loghain to get back at the man who hurt his lover so deeply... Part 2 of the Proverbial Branwen Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dish best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Babblerama: People were wondering how Loghain would get Alistair back. Well, like so, I guess... Josie Lange gave me the idea for the title in her review on “Kiss And Make It Better”. Most of you will know the proverb about revenge as a Klingon one, but it actually originates from Sicily, so I thought it would be fitting that Branwen would know it from Zevran. Loghain's last remark is a quote by George Herbert (1593-1633).
> 
> Takes place between “Kiss And Make It Better” (which is set at the very beginning of Awakening) and “The Last Curtain” (which takes place almost a year after Awakening)
> 
> This story is dedicated to all those poor PCs who had their hearts broken by Alistair.

**A Dish Best Served Cold**

by owlet

 

The Satinalia feast in the royal palace was an awkward, stilted affair. It was obvious that Anora discreetly kicked her husband under the table quite frequently, and said husband was glaring daggers at the man at Branwen's side. Branwen herself tried to let the King's remarks slide off her skin, but found that each of them added to the painful knot in her stomach.

Loghain seemed cool and aloof, eating slowly and methodically, exchanging pleasant remarks with his daughter, who was possessed of the same icy cordiality.

Father and daughter had mended fences over the past year, and Branwen knew that Loghain was very happy to see his little girl again, even if he didn't show it in public – especially not in front of Alistair.

“So... what are your plans for the arling?” the King asked, taking another sip of wine. His cheeks were getting ruddy, Branwen noticed.

“We will rebuild. The Darkspawn incursion left us with heavy losses,” she answered, carefully keeping her tone neutral.

“Of course they were heavy,” the King snorted. “Hardly surprising, considering that you left _him_ in charge of the defence of Vigil's keep.”

Branwen saw Loghain tense and could hear him quietly growl under his breath.

“Without Warden Loghain's experience with siege-tactics our losses would have been much higher. Perhaps we would have lost the Vigil entirely,” she replied, unable to keep a certain sharpness out of her tone.

“I find that hard to believe. And I find it even harder to understand how you could have trusted him with such a task.”

Branwen took a deep, steadying breath.

“He has won countless victories for Ferelden, Your Majesty, isn't it unjust to so severely judge him by his one and only defeat?”

Alistair smiled thinly.

“I don't judge him by a defeat, I judge him by a betrayal. You were there!”

“Yes, I was there,” Branwen hissed, “And we, you and I, were late with the beacon!”

“Enough!”

That was Anora.

Branwen nodded and stared at her plate. It was an old argument, and the King never really listened to anything she said. There was only icy silence until the royal couple rose and everyone with them.

Branwen hurried to her quarters. They were near the king's suite, as far as she knew, and very spacious and comfortable. She poured herself a goblet of wine and sat down on a low couch near the fireplace to stare into the flames. It was dark and she could hear the wind howling in the flue; the weather seemed to take a turn to the worst, she thought, just like everything else.

Who was this petty stranger on the throne? Where was this charming, golden boy she had been in love with? She had given him everything she had to give, and he had only taken, had never given anything back, she realized. He had whined at her about his losses, but had never asked about how she felt about the death of her family. He had asked her to take the time to visit his sister in Denerim, but had blown her off when she had wanted to search for her brother Fergus. He had thrown the burden of leadership at her feet, and when she had taken it, he had grumbled and complained every time she had done something that displeased him. And when she had denied him Loghain's head he had ranted and raged like toddler who had his favourite toy taken away. She had been appalled at his thirst for blood. How had she not seen this? She had been blinded by his charm, she realized, by his naivete and his quirky sense of humour.

And he had used her as an emotional crutch, as a scapegoat, and as a warm body to spend himself in. She could still hear him in her ear; nothing needs to change. Indeed. To ask her, Teyrn Cousland's daughter, born from a line almost as old as Calenhad's himself, to be his... his _doxy_...

Her fingers tightened around the goblet and turned white as she started to sob.

She didn't notice Loghain entering the room, but suddenly he was there, pried the goblet from her fingers and sat it aside.

Branwen launched herself into his arms.

“Does he still make you so very sad?” he asked quietly, pulling her even closer, and settling them on the couch.

“I'm not sad,” Branwen replied between hiccups. “I'm just so very angry. He hurt me and he used me – and he's going to get away with it because I can't do anything. Because he's the bloody _King_. Good thing we're leaving tomorrow. There is no way I could stand another day here.”

Loghain was silent for a while and simply rubbed her back.

“You know, these quarters used to be mine,” he finally said.

Branwen looked up at him confusedly.

“I thought as much. The framed map of Ferelden over there is a dead give-away.”

“Hm... I spent quite some time here. And I remember a little peculiarity about this very fireplace.”

The left corner of his mouth was pulled up and there was a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Oh?”

“You see, this flue is somehow connected to the fireplace in the king's bedroom. The King visits the queen and not the other way around; but when I used to live here there were quite many nights when it was impossible for me to sleep because the King was entertaining female guests.”

“Oh. Maric or Cailan?” Branwen asked in horrified fascination.

“Both,” Loghain answered with a grim smile.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You want to get even with him, don't you? I'm quite sure the acoustics work both ways.”

Branwen giggled and kissed him enthusiastically.

“Yes, I think that would be a wonderful revenge.”

“He is probably still being attended to by his servants. Are my books still here?”

Branwen got up and went to the bookcase.

“Seems so. Yes, your books without a doubt. Let's see... `An Account of the Deeds of King Calenhad´ - that is as close to a romantic novel as your taste in books gets. Will you read to me?” she asked, returning to the couch with the book in hand.

“If you like.”

Branwen smiled and settled against him, handing him the book.

“Please do,” she said and closed her eyes. He had such a wonderful voice, she loved listening to it. When he started to read, she sighed happily, the world around her disappearing until the only things she was aware of was his warmth and the vibrations that his voice sent through his chest beneath her cheek.

The faint sound of shattering glass made her lift her head. The sound had come from the fireplace.

“Seems like he just threw something against a wall,” Loghain mused.

Branwen nodded.

“Yes, and I suppose that means he is alone now.”

“Are you still upset?”

“No. But Zevran once mentioned something they say in Antiva...”

Loghain shifted them to a sitting position.

“And what do they say in Antiva?”

“That revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Loghain chuckled at her words.

“How true. So you want to go through with it?”

“Absolutely. He will be able to hear better, if we do it right in front of the fireplace, right?”

“Probably. And the furs should be soft enough.”

“Good, the let's get started before he goes to sleep.”

They were both laughing silently as they undressed and settled in front of the flickering flames. Branwen liked seeing her lover naked, he had a powerful body with wide shoulders and long, solid legs and strong arms. His muscles were defined, where Alistair's still had been partially hidden by baby-fat. And other than the golden boy he was pale, very pale, and the darkness of the smattering of hair on his chest was a striking contrast to his skin; the silvery scars that decorated it only added to his allure, and something within her was thrilled that she was the cause of some of them, that she had proven herself his equal.

They started out with playful kisses; Branwen loved to feel his generous lips playing with hers. Since that first night when he had come to her to give her comfort, he had proven himself to be a thoughtful, generous lover who took delight in her pleasure.

Loghain's lips moved to her neck as his fingers trailed along her spine, eliciting small shivers and a low moan. Following him as he got on his knees, she straddled him and buried her fingers in his hair.

“Tell me what you would like me to do,” Loghain murmured into her ear.

“Please touch my breasts, Loghain, and twist my nipples in the way you know I like,” she said, hoping that the King was listening in.

Loghain did as she had asked and his hands closed around her breasts, squeezing them gently before his fingers found her rosy buds.

She moaned again, nestling her face against his skin, breathing in his scent. It was familiar and comforting; she smiled at the thought. If anyone had told her that she would one day lie in Loghain's arms, and find comfort of all things, she would have declared them mad. But there it was. He had become her rock, her closest confidante and her lover.

“And now?”

“Suck them. I want to feel your tongue...”

Branwen didn't hold back the sounds that emerged from her throat when his lips closed around her left nipple. He drew it in sharply, making her yelp, and soothed it afterwards with gentle licks of his rough tongue.

“That feels so good... please do it again,” Branwen panted clinging to him.

He did, then switched to the other side.

“Loghain, I need...”

“What do you need, love?”

Branwen stilled. He had never called her that before... but perhaps it was for the King's benefit.

“I... I need your cock, Loghain. I want you to take me. I want to feel you inside of me,” she moaned, running her hands over the broad expanse of his back.

“Maker,” she continued, ”I want you so much. Can you feel how wet I am?”

His hand slipped between them and caressed her.

“I can, Branwen, I can indeed. Turn around, my dear...”

She did, and they now both faced the fireplace, Branwen still straddling him. Loghain reached down and positioned his erection, Branwen slid down on him.

“Hm... you feel so good... all slippery and hot,” he said and grasped her hips.

Branwen started to move and they soon fell into a practised rhythm that drew high-pitched shouts from her that echoed against the bricks.

“Oh... oh yes! Oh.... harder... please rub me...”

Loghain reached around and did as she had asked, his fingers finding her nub with ease. Branwen threw her head back and bared her neck to his teeth. She found that she liked a little pain in the throes of passion, and Loghain was very good at discerning how much.

His hips bucked against hers from behind, driving his hard flesh into her with primal force. Not that she didn't like it when he was gentle, but she felt so wonderfully alive when he took her like this, every nerve ending sang with joy as she neared her peak. 

He bit into the soft skin of her neck and sucked viciously, making her scream his name as she came. A few moments later Loghain groaned loudly and stilled after a few more thrusts.

When they stretched out on the fur, Loghain hissed in pain.

“What is it?”

“My knees... I'm too old to do this on the floor.”

Branwen giggled and cuddled up to him.

“I appreciate that you helped me with my revenge at the cost of such pain,” she whispered.

“Of course. I wasn't going to waste my one chance to be the knight in shiny armour.”

“Knight in shiny armour with creaky knees,” Branwen teased, pulling one of his wind-braids.

“Minx,” he grumbled and swatted at her butt. “Now let's move this to the bed before my back starts complaining too.”

They put out all candles except one and slipped under the covers of her (Loghain's?) spacious bed.

Branwen cuddled up to him and they shared a languid kiss. She felt tired, boneless and at peace. She had freed herself from the shadow that had haunted her fore more than a year now, and finally felt like herself again in the arms of the man laying beside her.

“I love you,” Loghain murmured into her hair, and the quiet words shattered her calm.

Branwen tensed.

“You promised me that you wouldn't say that,” she whispered.

“I promised not to say that until I actually did. And I found that I do. Branwen, since you made me a Grey Warden, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

Branwen drew back a little to look at him. His expression was grave, his eyes sincere.

“No you haven't. And I do trust you,” she answered his question. “You... really love me?”

“That's what I said, isn't it?”

For the second time that evening Branwen couldn't hold back her tears.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything,” Loghain said, sounding alarmed. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It's fine, I'm just happy,” she replied, slightly embarrassed. But the evening had been too emotionally draining.

Loghain snorted.

“Womenfolk. You cry when you're sad, you cry when you're angry, and you cry when you're happy. How is a man supposed to get it right?”

Branwen wiped away her tears and laughed.

“I have no idea. Still, you have a one out of three chance to get it right.”

“Wonderful. Now go to sleep, love. I'm an old man, and I'm tired,” Loghain yawned.

“You're not that old.”

“Sleep,” he commanded and drew her close, tangling his legs with hers.

Branwen closed her eyes and smiled against his chest. He loved her.

And with that thought, she fell asleep.

 

...

 

 

Branwen woke next morning to the sensation of her lover trying to disentangle himself from her. Making a sound of discontent, she wrapped herself around him more firmly.

“Branwen, I have to leave. The servants will be in soon to relight the fire. They'll talk.”

“Let them. I'm not sending you out into the cold.”

“Branwen...”

She rolled on top of him.

“No...”

Loghain sighed.

“Fine. I wasn't feeling like getting up anyway.”

He had been right, a servant entered soon and hid her double-take very badly. She put the room to rights and relit the fire in record-time before hurrying out; to tell everyone about what she'd seen, no doubt. Branwen found that she couldn't care less, as long as she was wrapped in Loghain's warm embrace.

When the room had heated a little they got up and dressed. Loghain went back to his own room to pack and she was collecting her stuff (as well as some of the books, they were his, after all) when a servant knocked and told her that the King wished to see her immediately.

Branwen nodded and followed him to the King's study, where she found Alistair pacing the floor in agitation.

“Close the door behind you,” he ordered.

“You wished to see me, Your Majesty?”, Branwen asked innocently.

“How many times will you yet betray me?” the King asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I heard you last night,” he thundered, red blotches appearing in his face. “I heard you going at it with that traitor. How could you?”

“With all due respect, Sire, how I choose to conduct my private life is none of your business.”

“Answer my question. Why did you allow him to have you? To get back at me?”

Branwen took a deep breath.

“No, Sire. I'm with him because I love him,” she said and found that it was true. “And because he loves me. He treats me with kindness and consideration. He respects my opinions and my decisions, and he supports me in every way. He makes me laugh, and he comforts me when I'm sad.”

Alistair looked as if she had slapped him.

“He's using you!”

“No, Alistair. _You_ used me. And now I would like to go back to Amaranthine. I have lots of work to do.”

“I absolutely forbid you to continue this... this _relationship_!” he spat.

Branwen drew herself up and squared her shoulders.

“Fortunately you don't get to forbid me anything. I'm a Grey Warden, and so is Loghain. The worst you could do is throw the Order out of Ferelden, but you remember how good that decision turned out to be in the past. And there is no guarantee that there are no other sentient Darkspawn out there.”

“Then you are a traitor, just like him!”

Branwen fumed at these words.

“How am I a traitor? Because I chose not to spend the rest of my life pining for you? If you had ever truly loved me, you would be happy for me! You would be glad that I found some happiness.”

Alistair pressed his lips together and glared at her.

“Get out of my sight.”

Branwen bowed.

“Gladly, Sire,” she said, and when she left the study she felt like she was flying, and had left him alone in the dirt.

Loghain was already waiting for her in the courtyard, horses ready and everything packed. He held her cloak for her and ghosted his fingertips over her cheek.

“I take it the meeting did not go well?”

“He looked like he hadn't slept at all. And he was furious. Had the gall to call me a traitor,” she laughed.

“Let's go home,” he murmured with a smile.

“Yes,” Branwen said, “Home.”

“After all,” he said after they had mounted their horses, “living well is the best revenge.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had fun! And if you have any suggestions or simply liked it, I would love to hear from you! ^^


End file.
